


Artifice

by Nightscrawl



Series: The Meaning of More [13]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 18:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightscrawl/pseuds/Nightscrawl
Summary: A cozy night in where Judah and Dorian discuss political acumen.





	Artifice

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks again to [Schattenriss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenriss/pseuds/Schattenriss) for doing the beta.

An open box of candied dates—the payout of a bet Dorian had made with Varric—sat on the bed between them. Once they sucked through the thin coating of sugary glaze, the soft, sweet flesh melted away after only a few chews. The treats were tasty and addictive, and each man absently reached for them as he focused on his own task. 

Dorian was reading, typical for him, and not actually a task in that it was not required work and he enjoyed it. Of late he’d become more interested in reading accounts of the magisters who had managed to breach the Fade. Who were they? How did they do it? What became of them? Were they truly the first darkspawn, and was that form their punishment from the Maker? He became increasingly frustrated at his inability to find nothing but second or third-hand accounts, recorded centuries later, often colored by Chantry propaganda or the sly maneuverings of magisterial descendants attempting to hide their family’s connection to the near extinction of life on Thedas. 

Judah was working. The Inquisitor’s work was never done. His _was_ a task, but a self-appointed one. Since becoming settled in Skyhold he felt it necessary and appropriate that he contact every single major leader in Thedas, introduce himself and the Inquisition in the most glowing manner possible, and attempt to persuade them that lending their aid would be beneficial, for them and their nations, as well as all of Thedas. The torn sky belongs to all, and no one, not even Tevinter, benefits from a crazed magister with delusions of godhood. 

This wasn’t something that _he_ had to do. Far more knowledgeable than he in such matters, he could have relied on his ambassador to use the correct words and her own connections to smooth the way with such individuals. But delegating in this instance felt lacking, as if the Inquisitor were not willing to put out the effort for something that was supposed to be his primary concern: the gathering of allies to combat the threat posed to _all_. They weren’t going to win this alone; they needed manpower, they needed supplies and trade, they needed acceptance or at the very least non-interference. They needed _friends_, and right now, they had precious few. 

And so Judah sat on the bed, writing board on his lap, surrounded by rough-drafts and notes, chewing on a date as he read over his most recent effort. He marked the page with thick black strokes as he scratched out a word and replaced it with something more fitting; flowing lines and arrows indicated the shifting of a paragraph. 

Both men reached for the same date and their hands brushed together, but rather than separate and reach for another, they lingered instead. Their fingers slid against each other, knuckles brushed and rubbed, a slight rotation allowed for the press of palms. A portion of their attention drifted away from their task, but they each still appeared as if it were nothing more than the absent-minded fondling of a lover’s hand, rather than the intentional caressing it was turning into. After a time they settled again, hand in hand unmoving, resting on the bed between them as the candied dates lay forgotten. 

For the third time Judah read over what he had written. While he liked it, the overall tone deemed deficient in some way, yet he couldn’t place why it seemed so. Releasing Dorian’s hand, he ran both of his own over his scalp as he sighed in frustration with himself. 

“Let me see,” Dorian said. 

In response, Judah handed him the paper and leaned against the headboard to wait while Dorian read through it. He respected the other man’s intelligence and knew that he had more experience in dealing with court intrigue and politics than he himself did. While Dorian may not have liked it, or found himself disgusted by the scheming, he still knew how the system worked and could be a savvy player if he chose to be. In contrast, Judah’s experience was mostly limited to the internecine Chantry politics his family was involved in. So jaded was he by the impiety of this behavior that he limited his own participation as much as possible, and had only a partial understanding of the delicate maneuvering that was sometimes required. As a result, he would be grateful for whatever advice Dorian could give him. 

Dorian rested a hand against his mouth as he read and considered. “This is… very formal,” he said at last. “It seems like something my father would write. Or your father, I suppose.” 

Judah had a minor chuckle at the shift and asked, “And that’s bad?” 

“Well no, not really. But the reason _you_ want to write it rather than simply sign something written by Josephine is because you want it to be _your_ words. While these are your _literal_ words, they don’t have your personality behind them. It doesn’t sound like you, is what I’m saying.” 

Was _this_ the reason it seemed lacking? “I see. Do you have a suggestion?” 

“This,” Dorian started, gesturing with the item in hand, “makes it seem like you sat and wrote a letter, which you _are_ doing. But you’re also addressing a person, even if an important one. So, instead of thinking of it as writing _a letter_, write it as if you were standing before them, addressing their court, trying to convince them of the merits and efficacy of the Inquisition. _Then_ it will sound like _you_. And if you want to add whatever little formal flourishes you think are appropriate, go ahead and do that _after_ you have the right words to add them to.” 

“I’ll try that. Thank you. This is just the base letter. Josephine gave me notes to add personal touches for each person, and tailor it to the taste and politics of each nation. Including Tevinter.” 

Dorian laughed. “That’s quite the hint. All right, let me see,” he said, indicating that he wanted to see the notes. “Ah, she is very good, but she didn’t go quite far enough. Hm…” he paused, hesitating, not knowing how his recommendation would be received, “you may not like this suggestion, but you’d do well to throw in a flirt or two.” 

Judah looked at Dorian with raised brow as he asked, “The archon sleeps with men?” 

“I believe I’ve heard that he enjoys both.” 

“He must be exhausted then.” 

“I doubt he’d feel deprived, regardless of his preference.” 

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Judah asked, thinking of what Dorian had told him of his homeland and their views on the matter. 

“To a degree. But he didn’t get where he is by being stupid, reckless, or merely incautious. While his liking for men is known in _some_ circles, it’s not so common that he wouldn’t wonder how you came by the knowledge.” 

“And how came _you_ by the knowledge?” 

“I’ve been known to move around certain circles.” 

“And that won’t be traced back to you, and thus to your father?” 

Dorian grinned. 

“Oh, you are naughty.” 

“And _you’re_ clever. Honestly, other than wanting to know _how_ you know—I’m sure he’d prefer that _I_ told you over what might be implied by you learning it from Leliana—I doubt he would care about you actually knowing. As I told you, in Tevinter it’s for pleasure only, much of the sex there is. It’s also a show of power. Many, no matter their actual preference, would rather say they had been fucked _by_ the archon instead of being fucked _over_ by him,” Dorian said, and noted that Judah looked more serious, his mouth compressed. “You find the idea distasteful.” 

“Yes and no. I’m not naïve, Dorian, I know sex is used that way. But you know how I feel about it for myself.” 

“I do. I’ve also never seen you flirt with anyone other than me. I’m not suggesting that you _proposition_ him, Judah. Even if I were, given the distance, you’re not in a position to make good on the suggestion. He would take it as no more or less than what it is: a demonstration of your ability and understanding of what is required in Tevinter in order to win the archon’s respect. We don’t just sybaritically lie about on couches all day, you know.” 

Judah made an exaggerated expression of incredulity. After all, the excesses of Tevinter society were legend. Even if fully half were caricatured embellishment and Chantry propaganda, there was truth as well. 

“All right, I’ll concede that _some_ of us do, but most know that being too self-indulgent is rather dangerous for one’s health, and I don’t mean the trivial concerns that come from running to fat. 

“In Tevinter, it’s nothing so cute as a ‘game,’ ” Dorian explained, referencing the playful Orlesian term with what Judah perceived as a tinge of condescension. “Some maneuver as if they’re playing one, certainly, but it’s more akin to ‘artifice.’ Everyone knows it and acts accordingly, and it’s often difficult to know who one’s true friends are. The archon is likely only planning to give the Inquisition false platitudes in order to keep us focused on the Venatori and do his job for him. A bit of subtle artifice from you might make him reconsider.” 

Unable to help himself, Judah smiled as he asked, “Subtlety, huh? So I shouldn’t compliment his _staff_ or anything like that?” 

Dorian groaned as if pained. “Try not to make me embarrassed to be associated with you.” 

Something in Dorian’s words caught in Judah’s mind and took root. His eyes widened slightly and he said, “Ah!” as he reached for the pen and began scribbling away. 

“What?” Dorian asked, leaning over to peer at the writing. 

Judah leaned away as he said, “Just wait,” then paused a moment to regain his train of thought before writing again. When he was done, he handed the writing board to Dorian, satisfied, but also curious to see the other man’s reaction. 

What followed were two paragraphs extoling the virtues of both swordsmanship and magic, and of their working together toward a common goal. The innuendo was so spare as to be hardly noticeable, but a grin began to spread over Dorian’s face as he read it. “If you felt more inclined toward politics and had more practice in it, or had you been born in Tevinter or Orlais, I daresay that you would be quite formidable.” 

Judah had a wry smile for the compliment. “If I _were_ more inclined I’m not sure you’d like me very much. I think I’d be a different person.” 

“Maybe, maybe not,” was Dorian’s response. One of the reasons he liked Judah was because of the way his mind worked and how he interacted with others: he was direct, straightforward, but also tactful. He was _honest_. Being more politically inclined lent itself to a particular way of thinking, a cynicism and mistrust of others that affected one’s outlook on life. He _would_ be different, it was true, but it was difficult to know how much, or whether he would like _that_ Judah. 

“And if I _had_ been born in Tevinter we wouldn’t be together, would we?” 

“No,” Dorian said, not bothering with “maybe,” “probably,” or “likely not,” he knew they wouldn’t be. 

“I’m happy with the way things are.” 

Dorian smiled in acceptance and agreement before leaning over to kiss Judah on the corner of the mouth and say, “Back to work, you,” as he handed back the writing board. 

“Yes, meserre,” Judah said with a sigh, and reluctantly returned to his task. 

End.


End file.
